


From Space Goat To Silly Goose With Love

by tyrionlannistar



Category: Silly Goose/ Space Goat
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 16:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrionlannistar/pseuds/tyrionlannistar
Summary: An English girl just really loves her girlfriend, but the universe is adament on erasing their love.





	From Space Goat To Silly Goose With Love

**Author's Note:**

> This was all for you. It would never have happened if it wasn't for you. I need you to know I love you with all my heart.

**I.**

 

The summer breeze drifts lightly when Harry feels his presence. The door opening. Darkness. Feet pattering, heaviness on his bed, solid hands enveloping his waist, warm breath on his neck.

 

He stills. “Eggsy?”

 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Harry.” The boy whispers into his back, again and again and again, until his arms slacken and the staccato heartbeats thudding against Harry’s back placate into a steady rhythm.

 

Harry wills his own heart to stop beating wildly.

 

He thinks of the first time he woke up to find his house occupied with another body. This agreement - if one could call it that - wherein Eggsy without prior notice comes to his house, usually post-mission, to sleep in Harry’s guest bedroom usually went without questions. It was for the benefit of his young protegee, Harry persuades himself.

 

 _Not this though._ This surely crosses countless boundaries.

 

Harry can’t remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone else. Post-coital honeypot missions unincluded, it’s been decades.

 

He doesn’t dare move in case Eggsy wakes up. He doesn’t dare breathe in case he wakes up and realises it was all a cruel dream.

-

When Harry wakes the next morning, he finds himself staring at the white ceiling. He feels the space next to him shift.

 

“What does death feel like?” The boy laying next to him whispers. Harry can feel the hot Kentucky sun blazing on his face.

 

“Forgetting.”

  


**II.**

 

The ebb and flow of political bureaucracy becomes nascent and the crisp air wakes Harry up rude and raw.

 

The boy sleeping next to him had arrived in the dead of the night, blue and black bruises marring his milky skin, scars like knife marks, and tears marking his cheeks.

 

Sometimes Harry wonders if fighting the evils of the world is truly necessary.

  


**III.**

 

Harry watches the morning sun melt the butter on his toast as he hears the front door open.

 

He looks up to see an exhausted Eggsy, covered in what looks like dried blood. As the boy limps forward, Harry sees the busted lip and the purple bruises directly under his right eye socket. His blue veins look stark against the yellow marring that intertwines with the dark, almost black, bruising.

 

Harry clenches his jaw and grabs his first aid kit.

 

“Why are you not in medical?” Harry asks as he wraps gauze around Eggsy’s left fist. They're both sat on the sofa.

 

The boy opens his mouth but closes it again, unanswering. He shifts his gaze to look forward. Unflinching.

 

“I fucked up.” He releases a shaky breath. Eggsy was sent to uncover a underground human trafficking gang in Manchester two nights ago. The mission would usually have taken a month or two.

 

Harry stares at his face. He assesses Eggsy's steely resolve and purses his lips.

 

_Tell me, tell me and I’ll stop it. I’ll stop whomever caused you harm._

 

“Go shower... I won’t be here for the next few nights,” Harry stands up, eyes fixated on the way the sun peeks through the window making Eggsy’s hair look like strands of gold. He wishes he could lock him up forever.

 

He unclenches his jaw, “Make yourself at home.”

  


**IV.**

 

Harry wakes up at four am to run. He stops by Hyde Park to watch the sky bleed midnight into dawn.

 

An hour later he opens his front door. Eggsy is sat at the dining table, a spread of food in front of him. Harry gives a cursory glance over the scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, stack of toast, and the pot of tea. He blinks.

 

The sound of a chair scraping against his wooden flooring rings around the room. Harry watches Eggsy walk towards him.

 

“Didn’t know where you’d gone. Wasn’t sure if you had had breakfast already, but,” he waves a hand at the almost excessive spread of food. Harry stares at the croissants in confusion, but Eggsy’s voice cuts through this thoughts.

 

“Might have ran to Tesco’s,” he laughs awkwardly, apprehension bubbling at the surface. He watches Harry’s face, almost as if he’s eager for approval.

 

Harry can feel something deep inside his belly crawling up inching its claws up into his chest. He doesn’t know what to say. He manages a soft whisper, “Thank you.”

 

Eggsy beams.

  


**V.**

 

As August morphs into September, Eggsy’s wounds heal, the skin rebuilding thicker than it had previously been.

 

Harry stares at his sleeping form. Watches Eggsy’s brown hair laying in tufts against the pillow, the boy's jaw jutting out, his nose slightly crooked from all the fighting, his pink lips parted, breathing: shallow.

 

He leaves to shower. As the hot water makes waves around him, Harry imagines waking Eggsy up. Rolling him onto his back and welcoming him to create secrets with Harry that would never leave the bedroom.

 

He reaches to change the water temperature instead.

  


**VI.**

 

Auburn leaves are the children of decaying trees. Harry feels a cathartic gratitude at the crunch they release as he steps on them with his trainers.

 

He circles St James’s Park, stopping at the sight of Buckingham Palace in the horizon. The residence of the British Royalty reminds Harry of when Eggsy was personally invited for dinner by the Swedish Royal Family. Harry takes a step forward, revelling at the sound underneath his feet.

 

He thinks of Eggsy, the moles dispersed on his skin, and Tilde kissing them. Tilde’s soft lips all over Eggsy’s skin, marking her territory. Her tongue trailing down his exposed throat, biting the vulnerable space where Eggsy’s pulse resides, sucking hard whilst Eggsy gasps, eyes closed in bliss.

 

Harry starts running again, his heart thumping, syncopating with the beat of his heels hitting the concrete. He wonders what is missing in him. The golden wind of Autumn has left him scattered everywhere.

  


**VII.**

 

Harry returns home from Tokyo HQ. The London skyline is dark except for the residing smell of gunpowder laying thick in the air.

 

As he makes his way up the stairs, Harry hears the sound of running water. Pushing open his bedroom door, he sees a pressed double-breasted pinstripe suit laying on the back of his armchair, and a pair of Kingsman-issue glasses on his bedside table.

 

Harry’s own glasses are in his pocket and he contemplates placing them down next to Eggsy’s. He stops, pursing his lips. He sits them down in their regular position next to his watch stand.

 

He hears the water stop, and removes his signet ring.

 

The en-suite bathroom door opens.

 

“Why are you wearing my robe?” Harry asks when he turns around.

 

Eggsy’s hair is the longest Harry’s seen it. The water from the shower pools to the ends, and Harry can see the droplets forming and falling onto his milky skin, down his cheek, down his throat, disappearing under the red fabric.

 

Harry wants to grab a towel and shake his head. Harry wants to utterly debauch him.

 

The boy avoids answering, instead levelling another question as he leans against the wall. “How was your meeting?”

 

Harry removes his suit jacket, “Tedious.” He looks back, “Aren’t you meant to be in Glasgow?”

 

Eggsy is undoing the robe and crawling into Harry’s bed. He replies facetiously, “Finished earlier than expected.”

 

Harry wants to chastise about water marks on his pillow, but he’s too tired. He turns around.

 

“You going to sleep?”

 

Harry opens his mouth to reply, but, all of a sudden, loud bangs ring through the air. Harry shoulders tense up and he exhales shakily.

 

He opens his eyes and watches vivid fiery red fireworks leave their stains in the night sky.

 

_I wish I could sleep inside you._

 

“Soon, yes.”

  


**VIII.**

 

They say the human body is a synecdoche of the universe. When Eggsy enters his bedroom fresh out of the shower a few weeks later, Harry finally understands why.

 

It was if the galaxy had etched itself into the landscape of the boys back. His freckles; remnants of supernovas and cosmic dust. His moles, constellations; Andromeda across the back of his shoulders, Draco and Hercules embedded over his spine, and Cassiopeia on his lower back, disappearing under the towel wrapped around his waist.

 

Harry swallows painfully and turns around, reaching for his cufflinks.

  


**IX.**

 

On a rainy Tuesday night in London, Harry is drinking a cup of tea and poring over classified documents. Eggsy is laid on the sofa, head on the right armrest and his socked feet on the left. He twists his neck slightly sidewards to watch a BBC nature documentary.

 

As David Attenborough’s voice fills the room, Harry reads through the psychiatrists debriefing on Percival’s mental health following his capture in a high risk gang operation. He sighs, and reaches for his tea.

 

“Why do you keep doing that?” Eggsy asks. Harry looks up, brows furrowed.

 

“Why do I drink tea?” Harry quips.

 

Eggsy gives him a pointed look and shifts his feet to the floor and sits upright.  

 

“Keep working at a job you hate.” Eggsy stares at him, defiant.

 

Harry doesn’t know how to respond. _I don’t hate my job,_ he wants to say. So he does.

 

Eggsy levels an unimpressed look. “Bullshit Harry. You’re miserable all the time. When I see you at work your face is all blank and unemotional. Being Arthur is sucking the life out of you.”

 

_It’s not. I’m not._

 

“What do you suggest I do then?” Harry balls his fists. “In case you forgot, I only have one bloody eye, I can hardly get back into the field.”

 

“I don’t know, but anything is better than this,” Eggsy points at the paperwork laid out on the coffee table.

 

“Being Arthur is a prestigious accomplishment that many agents can only dream about -”

 

“- But not you,” Eggsy interrupts. “You don’t have to do it y’know. You have a choice.”

 

Harry’s rage slowly rises. “I’m sorry to shatter your illusions, but the position wasn’t thrust upon me. I offered -”

 

“- Offered because you thought you had to. The rest of the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders however much you want it to.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“I’m just saying… how many times have you saved the world. Don’t you deserve some rest?”

 

Eggsy leans forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs. He opens his mouth and takes a moment before he next talks, “...I saw you shaking on bonfire night. When those fireworks went off.” He looks at Harry closely before continuing. “Getting shot in the eye, and then living to tell the tale. That could fuck up anyone. It’s okay to talk about it, it’s okay to go to a therapist. Hell, talk to me about it. Just don’t suffer alone because you’re ashamed. You can leave for yourself, no one will judge you.”

 

“I’ve been at Kingsman for 31 years. I was an agent 11 years before you were even born.” Harry says closed off, assembling his mental walls again. “I think I know what’s best for me, thank you.” He stands up suddenly.

 

“Harry,” Eggsy says, standing up as well. “I’m not.. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.” The boy swallows, his Adam’s apple moving up and down.

 

“I know what it feels like when you think your life has ended, and I know what it feels like having to rebuild yourself up again. Making yourself miserable isn’t the answer. And I know you think you’re the only qualified person to be Arthur and so the proverbial mantle falls on you but it doesn’t.”

 

“You don’t owe them shit. You don’t owe anyone shit,” Eggsy continues, and Harry exhales sharply. The boy reaches out, to put his hand on Harry’s forearm, a comforting gesture surely.

 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Merlin,” Harry eventually says. It’s a cop-out; he’s far too tired to argue further.

 

Eggsy smiles softly. “Just… think about it okay?” He states.

  


**X.**

 

Christmas arrives accompanied by sleet and darkness. The radio aches festivities, the sounds reverberating around Harry’s dining room as he pours himself a glass of his special occasion Armagnac. His back twinges memories of old age and he has never been so aware of his senile disposition.

 

Harry makes his way back to the sofa, where Kingsman expenditure paperwork is laid out. He halts when he hears soft knocking. He puts down his glass on the dining table and finds himself answering the door to a flushed Eggsy.

 

Eggsy’s cheeks are a rosy red colour, matching the tip of his nose. He wears an atrociously coloured knitted hat which has done little to stop the sleet from getting onto his hair. Eggsy breathes out harshly, the moisture in his breath condensing to form a soft cloud around them.

 

“Merry Christmas Harry,” the boy laughs jovially. “I’m freezing my tits off out here, can I come in?”

 

Harry closes the door after him. He turns around to find Eggsy peeling off the wet hat off his head and shaking the water droplets from his hair. Right on to Harry’s floor.

 

“What brings you here?” Harry asks, pursing his lips.

 

Eggsy doesn’t answer, his eyes instead roaming the living room, specifically the coffee table. He blinks, as if he’s processing his thoughts.

 

“Oh, I bought you a gift.”

 

Harry blinks. He doesn’t do gifts.

 

“Have you been alone all day?” Eggsy asks, a corollary to his former question. He takes off his coat.

 

“Merlin came for Christmas dinner.” Harry replies.

 

_Why are you here?_

 

Eggsy catches sight of the Armagnac. Quicker than Harry can blink, the boy swipes it up and downs it in one fluid movement, revealing the vast expanse of skin on his neck as he elonages it.

 

“Eggsy…” Harry starts, perplexed and offended at such expensive alcohol being wasted. “Why are you here?”

 

He turns to face Harry, “I just told you. Got you a gift.”

 

Harry can see Eggsy moving forward, but it feels like he’s not in charge of his body. He stays halted, and when Eggsy gets onto his tip toes and presses a swift cold kiss on Harry’s lips, Harry doesn’t move.

 

“What are you doing?” Harry whispers.

 

The boy stares at him, lips parted, cheeks and ears still flushed. Harry isn’t sure if the reaction was still caused by the weather. Perhaps the alcohol then.

 

“I thought you wanted this,” Eggsy whispers, and Harry closes his eyes.

 

_Not like this._

 

“I don’t need your pity Eggsy.”

 

After a moment of silence, Eggsy starts. “Harry,” the boy sounds pained, and the ticking in his jaw becomes noticeable. “You must know.”

 

Harry’s brows furrow, “Enlighten me.”

 

The boy moves forward. “I - I like you. Guess I always have,” he laughs a small bitter sound. “I’ve dreamed of this more times than I can remember.”

 

Harry feels as if his ribs are trying to suffocate him.

 

“What about Tilde?”

 

“It was you. It was always you,” Eggsy reaches out hesitantly to run his thumb across Harry’s cheekbone.

 

“Right,” Harry breathes.

 

“Are you- are you scared?”

 

“...No,” Harry says, and he moves his right hand to reach Eggsy’s face, allowing for his thumb to swipe against Eggsy’s lower lip.

 

Harry swears it's the Armagnac he tastes in the boys mouth that sets his goosebumps on fire.

  


**XI.**

 

“What are you thinking of?” Eggsy murmurs, as his teeth graze the pulse on Harry’s neck.

 

_How I want you to kiss the dark inky parts of me where the loneliness hides, until I disappear completely._

 

“How you wreck me,” Harry answers, lips burning.

 

Eggsy lifts his head and smiles devastatingly. “Good.”

  


**XII.**

 

He freezes as soon as he opens his front door.

 

Classical music is playing faintly in the background. The house would be dark if it was not for the mass of candles flickering on the dining room table. A cake is perched in the middle of the table. Red velvet. Harry’s favourite.

 

“Happy birthday.”

 

Harry looks up from the cake to see Eggsy standing in contrapposto adjacent to the kitchen, grey t-shirt bunching as he crosses his arms. Shadows dance across his face as he starts to move towards Harry.

 

“How?”

 

 _I didn’t tell you_.

 

The boy laughs softly, a beautiful mellifluous sound that sends shivers down Harry’s spine. Violins crescendo around them.

 

“I have my ways. I can be very persuasive ya know.”

 

Before Harry can reply, Eggsy is reaching for his scarf, slowly unwinding it. His hands slip underneath the lapels of his wool coat, smoothing out the non-existent creases.

 

He licks his lips and lifts his face towards Harry. “Have I told you how hot you look in this coat?” And now Harry laughs.

 

Eggsy tip toes forward and presses a kiss on Harry’s lips. “Welcome home,” his eyes twinkle.

 

Harry reaches for the boy’s face, his black gloves a sharp contrast to the milky skin it makes contact with.

 

“Stay the night.”

 

_Exist with me. We’d do so beautifully._

  


**XIII.**

 

When Eggsy arrives at his house red and bloodied and bruised in the New Year, Harry takes him to the bathroom to patch him up with his first aid kit.

 

He applies antiseptic to the wounds on his hands.

 

_Sorry about your broken fingers. I wish it had been me. Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine. Sorry for your pain, I wish I could contain it._

  


**XIV.**

 

“Sometimes I think you’re a repressed secret romantic.”

 

They’re both laying in bed naked, Harry slightly upright, head against the headboard with Eggsy curled on his right. Eggsy rests his head against Harry’s shoulder and with his fingers, he trails patterns on Harry’s chest.

 

Harry hums, looking down at Eggsy’s hair. He lifts his hand to card through it, revelling in the feel of the boys scalp underneath his fingertips.

 

Eggsy lifts his head up to look at Harry. “As if I haven't realised that you manipulate what missions I get depending on what dates they are. Everyone else is working on Valentines Day and we’re here.”

 

Harry suppresses a smirk, “Would you rather be elsewhere Galahad?”

 

“I’m just sayin’, I’m surprised no one’s realised.”

 

“Merlin’s too busy complaining about me cutting his funding for new IT equipment to check on your files and connect that I purposefully postponed your South Korea mission to fifteenth February,” Harry states mindlessly, too focused on connecting the moles on Eggsy’s back.

 

The boy snorts, a silly smile coming to his face.

 

“What?”

 

“Who da thought? Me? Shagging the boss?” His shoulders shake as if it's the funniest joke he’s ever heard. Harry’s mouth twists into a wry smile.

 

“You are a very naughty boy,” Harry nods.

 

“Wickedly bad. How will you punish me?” The glint in Eggsy’s eyes shines.

 

“A good spanking is in order,” Harry states. With the weight in his right arm he rolls Eggsy on to his front, and the boy lets out an undignified cry.

 

Harry catches sight of cassiopeia again. “May I- Try something?”

 

Eggsy makes a non-committal noise.

 

Harry bends down, breathing over the the boys milky skin before he touches it with his tongue. He traces out the constellation with his tongue, trailing across Eggsy’s lower back. He tries to memorise the taste of sweat and the smell of his skin.

 

“Mmm, that tickles,” Eggsy sighs, and Harry chuckles. He raises his right hand and gives a swift smack on the the boys bottom. He watches the imprint of his hand leaving a red stain on the boys skin, feeling content as Eggsy releases a guttural noise from the back of his throat.

 

Harry wishes he could record this; his body marking Eggsy’s. _He’s mine. All mine._

  


**XV.**

 

Harry’s lips curl around a cigarette. He tries to not make a habit, but for restless nights, he gives into his cravings.

 

He watches from his window the London traffic moving fast. The plethora of street lamps create a bokeh effect, making London look softer than it usually does. Yet, Harry still feels sharp inside.

 

He thinks about how he probably should feel shame for fucking a boy three decades younger than him. But instead of guilt clawing at his trachea, when he looks at Eggsy’s face, he feels as if somehow his sins are being absolved. And Harry doesn’t even believe in God.

 

Harry taps the cigarette against his Kingsman embossed ashtray.

 

A pair of warm arms slipping under his own suddenly jolts him from his thoughts. They snake across his stomach and scar-ridden chest; solid chest pressing against his bare back.

 

The boy gingerly plucks the cigarette out of Harry’s mouth and takes a long drag. He turns to face Harry and kisses him, releasing the smoke deep into Harry’s lungs.

 

_I inhale you as you watch me burn._

 

Eggsy breaks the silence. “It’s been two years right?”

 

Two years since he got shot in the eye. To Harry it still somehow feels like it was yesterday and ten years ago at the same time.

 

“Two years ago to this date.”

 

“I’ve always hated March,” Eggsy states facetiously, tapping off the excess of the cigarette butt into the ashtray. He passes it back to Harry.

 

“Sunrise is in half an hour. Would you like to come running with me?” Harry asks, for the better of killing the emptiness he feels.

 

“If you want me to, then sure.”

 

Harry nods, taking a last drag before burning the cigarette on the Kingsman sign.

  


**XVI.**

 

Harry knows the boy’s home before he opens the door.

 

Harry’s seething. He’s livid.

 

“What the _fuck_ was that?” He hisses at Eggsy.

 

Eggsy is sat on the sofa in the living room, in the dark. The lamp in the dining room provides lighting for Harry - enough to see the shadows play around the boys face. Eggsy’s staring intently at his hands, which are, incidentally, nursing a glass of Harry’s expensive whisky.

 

“Eggsy.” Harry sounds foreboding.

 

“Do you -” Harry stops, exhaling, running a hand through his hair. “Can you fathom the calamitous effects of what you just did?”

 

The boy doesn’t answer but takes a drink of the amber liquid.

 

Harry grinds his teeth.

 

“Stand up. Now.” Harry demands, even, calculated.

 

Eggsy takes another gulp of the drink, and settles the glass on the coffee table. He stands and walks to the door where Harry is stood.

 

Harry stops himself from flinching as he inspects the boy in front of him. Eggsy wears a forlorn expression. His deathly pale white skin contrasts the blood splatter across his temples and cheeks. Even his crisp white collar is doused in blood.

 

“Christ, look at you,” Harry moves his head. “What do you have to say for yourself?

 

Eggsy shakes subtly and opens his mouth slowly. “He found out where she lives. He wouldn’t stop harassing her.”

 

“Yes, Eggsy. She should have called the police and -”

 

“- She’s scared shitless of him. She thinks it’s _her f_ ault,” he interrupts.

 

Harry watches Eggsy dig his nails into his palm.

 

“People like us, we don’t call the police. No, she called me… and when I saw him I flipped.”

 

Eggsy breathes out harshly from his nostrils.

 

“Daisy’s four now. She recognises faces.” Eggsy clenches his jaw so tightly, Harry swears the boy might internally combust. “I don’t want her to ever, ever, see her dad.”

 

Harry wants to move his hands away from each other. He wants to hold those hands.

 

_When did I become so weak?_

 

“Rest assured that can’t happen now. You shoved a knife in his throat and left him bleeding out in public.”

 

Eggsy looks down. “Yes, well,”

 

Hary closes his eyes and thinks of the amount of phone calls he had to provide; explanations to a number of personnel from MI5 about a rogue spy killing a lowly drug king in such brutal fashion. He thinks of the number of amnesia darts which were used to relieve the memories of all the bystanders and witnesses. He thinks of the cleaning team effortlessly wiping blood off of Holland Park Road. He thinks of Merlin tirelessly doctoring all the CCTV camera footage and removing any digital footprint of the incident.

 

Harry’s tired.

 

“You can personally thank Tristan and Lancelot for cleaning up your mess.”

 

He looks back at Eggsy dragging his nails in a circle on his palm. Harry sighs, “Was it worth it at least?”

 

Harry can calculate the exact moment Eggsy _snaps_. “You wouldn’t understand."

 

Harry furrows his brows. “Understand what?”

 

Eggsy sends him a withering look. “As if rich people care about what happens to poor single mums. You wouldn’t know the first fucking thing about becoming a widow with a child to support and no one there to help you.”

 

A tremor runs down Harry’s back. “Eggsy-”

 

The boy points a finger at Harry’s chest. “- Yeah, where were you when we were nearly evicted huh? Harry? Where were you when I had to steal bread from Tesco because there was no fucking food to eat for dinner? Where were you when Dean promised to help my mum and, to her, getting a black eye was worth it so her son would have a roof over his head? No? You give a lousy fucking medal and call it a day huh? That’s all you rich wankers do. My dad fucking died for you and you repay him back with a fucking medal?”

 

Eggsy screams until he’s blue in the face, and Harry. Harry feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

 

“That medal got you here didn’t it?” Harry hisses.

 

“I wish I wasn’t here,” Eggsy spits out. “I wish you’d killed Dean and his goons when I was 8 and then left me and my mum the fuck alone.”

 

Eggsy scoffs and tries to push by Harry, who’s guarding the door.

 

The boy’s chest heaves and he stares Harry, dead in the eyes. “Move.”

 

Harry levels the same stare at him with defiance. “You understand I have to put through an investigation now. You’ll be dismissed from all missions henceforth, and the jury will decide to reinstate you or not.”

 

“You’re Arthur. You’ll have some sway in it either way. I’m sure you’ll do what you think is best.”

 

Harry stoops low, “And what if I convince them to remove you?”

 

Eggsy laughs sharp and bitter.

 

“Do whatever the _fuck_ you want Harry. I’m leaving.”

 

He pushes past Harry’s left side, and Harry, in a fit of anger and desperation, raises his right hand to grab Eggsy by the throat in a split-second. He slams him to the nearest surface.

 

Eggsy’s back makes a sickening noise as it hits the wall.

 

Harry looks in horror at his hand around Eggsy’s throat.

 

Eggsy quickly recovers from the shock, and starts to smile a demented smile. He gasps out, “This is what you’ve always wanted to do wasn’t it?”

 

The boy releases a shameful guttural moan. “Hurt me Harry. Give me your best.”

 

Harry feels as if his hand has been electrocuted; he scrambles to let go; his nerves running wild.

 

Eggsy slides down the wall, rubbing at the red imprint of Harry’s hand on his neck. He laughs, “ _Fuck you_ ,” and slams the door on his way out. The boom reverberates around Harry’s empty home.

 

Harry looks down at his calloused palms; betrayed by their actions, repulsed by the sight of them.

 

He reaches to grab hold of the half empty whisky glass. Harry wants to drown himself in the amber liquid. He tightens his grip around the glass, and, in a relapse of judgment, he extends his arm and throws it with all his force.

 

He watched in slow motion as the liquid in the glass twirls, catching the light - looking like dark molten gold - until it shatters, leaving a muted stain on the wall.

 

Harry wants to scream into the oblivion.

 

And now he has another mess to clean up.

  


**XVII.**

 

Harry doesn’t see or hear from Eggsy for a month.

 

The jury reconvenes on May 19th to remove Galahad from sabbatical; found not guilty on the account of murdering Dean Baker.

 

Eggsy looks withdrawn at their weekly debriefings, swanning in as late as possible and being the first to jolt out the door once Harry dismisses them all. He even refrains from his usual light-hearted banter with Lancelot.

 

The guilt doesn’t stop the pain in Harry’s chest and the late spring sun doesn’t stop Harry’s bed from feeling any colder.

  


**XVIII.**

 

Harry walks down the stairs to make himself a cup of tea before bed. He doesn’t see Eggsy sitting in his armchair.

 

“Rox thought you were off to murder someone this morning.”

 

Harry jumps and his eyes narrow on a shadowy figure in the near distance. He reaches out to turn the dining room lamp on.

 

He can vaguely make out Eggsy clutching a glass of clear liquid. Gin.

 

“Stop drinking all my liqueur,” Harry sighs.

 

“Why were you so angry this morning?”

 

Harry’s mind flits back to earlier that day; he can’t remember anything specifically.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Eggsy stands up. “So you just gonna walk around and send murderous glares at your agents because of willy nilly?”

 

Harry blinks. A million thoughts pass through his head at once and none of them pertain to this conversation.

 

“Eggs-,” Harry tries. The name stuck in his throat for a month refuses to come out clearly. “Eggsy.”

 

The boy hums.

 

“I’m - I’m sorry.”

 

“For what?” The boy scrutinises Harry’s face.

 

Harry can feel the words strangling his esophagus but he knows if he doesn’t say it now, he’ll lose the boy forever. Harry sucks in a deep breath.

 

“For… for belittling you, for underestimating you. For causing you pain. Physical and mental.”

 

The boy steps forward. “Harry, it's okay.”

 

Harry shakes his head violently, “No. No. It was inexcusable.”

 

“Listen to me Harry. I forgive you. Besides, what I said was pretty inexcusable as well.”

 

Eggsy bites his lip, before he continues. “I’ll always be grateful - hell - beyond grateful for you, and I got issues but they’re mine and none of them are your fault. Okay? I need you to know that.”

 

The boy moves so he's in hands reach.

 

Harry observes what he’s wearing. A light weighted t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. The sharpness of the boys jawline does nothing to impede on how _soft_ he looks and Harry wants to hold him all night. Harry wants to hold him all day. Harry doesn’t want to let him go to the cruel world.

 

“I missed you. I’ve missed you so much you fucking dolt,” Eggsy whispers as he moves his hands forward to straighten Harry’s wool cardigan.

 

“But, Eggsy -”

 

“- Harry. Stop. I mean it.”

 

Harry can feel himself melting underneath those warm hands. He closes his eyes.

 

“Alright,” he breathes. He rests his forehead on Eggsy’s shoulder. “Alright.”

 

He runs his fingers through the boy’s hair and whispers, “I missed you too.”

 

“I haven’t had a proper fucking sleep in a month, I hope you’re happy.” Eggsy laughs softly.

 

Harry keeps his face buried in Eggsy’s neck. He cards through Eggsy’s hair and kisses the boy’s shoulder. “Bold of you to think you’ll get any sleep tonight.”

 

Harry can feel Eggsy still underneath him.

 

Eggsy sounds positively aroused when he breathes out, “Yes, Harry, yes.”

 

Harry makes love to Eggsy before midnight. After midnight. Again. Again. Again. And near dawn again.

  


**XIX.**

 

The summer sun floods through the house, and dapples Eggsy’s body in light. Harry feels like Icarus.

 

From the nape of the boys neck, Harry makes his descent; pressing soft kisses, down, down, down, until his lips feel raw and the fingers tugging at his hair slacken.

 

Eggsy’s heavy breathing fills the air around them. Harry swallows the taste in his mouth.

 

Eggsy’s hands come up to caress his face as he presses kisses over Harry’s forehead, Harry’s eyes, the thin white spidery lines emitting from his left eye socket, Harry’s cheeks, and finally Harry’s lips.

The boy swallows hard, and looks Harry in the eyes. “Do you remember the first night I came here?”

 

“May 31st?”

 

“Yeah,” he traces the lines around Harry’s eyes. “Can you believe it’s been a year?”

 

Harry can’t.

 

Eggsy continues. “I used to always get the same nightmare of you getting shot. But that night. It felt so real... I had to see you. I needed to know you were alive.”

 

Harry’s throat feels uncomfortably tight.

 

“Give me your hand,” Harry whispers, and Eggsy looks confused but he complies.

 

Harry moves the boy’s hand and raises it to his chest. “Do you feel that? I’m here, I’m right here.”

  


**XX.**

 

Harry announces his retirement at the beginning of June.

 

At the end of June, Harry Hart becomes the Butterfly House Manager at the Natural History Museum.

 

At the beginning of July he becomes the co-editor of The Lepidopterists’ Society’s quarterly journal.

 

Eggsy doesn’t stop smiling at him.

 

“That’s wicked Harry,” Eggsy beams as Harry tells him about how his first exhibition went. The boy reaches out to intertwine their fingers across the dining table.

 

An hour ago Harry came home to find the dining table covered in candles again, although instead of a cake, there lay a dish of ravioli and a bottle of Riesling.

 

“When’s the next mission?” Harry asks in between bites.

 

“Three days,” Eggsy says, sipping on his wine. “I was sort of hoping to come to your exhibit soon. If that’s alright of course?”

 

“That would be lovely Eggsy.” Harry smiles softly.

 

The boy smirks. “I kinda wanna stand with all the middle aged women who will, _inevitably_ , end up swooning after you and then watch their faces fall when I point to you and call you my boyfriend.”

 

Eggsy laughs hysterically. Harry contemplates moving the white wine away.

 

Harry purses his lips, “I’m too old to use the label ‘boyfriend’.”

 

After Eggsy stops laughing he replies, “Yeah, I guess. But ‘significant other’ is for old people and I’m hardly going to start calling you ‘my lover’ am I?”

 

Harry sniffs, “Why not, lover boy?”

 

“Oh my god, I am _not_ a lover boy,” Eggsy sounds incensed, and now is Harry’s time to smirk.

 

“Alright my darling lover boy.”

 

Eggsy hides his face in his free hand. “Harry, please.”

 

The edges of Harry’s lips turn upwards, and he takes a sip of his wine.

 

“How about… fiancée?”

 

Eggsy chokes.

 

“What?” The boy strangles out.

 

Harry hums innocently.

 

“Did you- Did you just… propose?” His eyes narrow in disbelief.

 

“Well I do have a ring upstairs, I assure you it wasn’t spur of the moment,” Harry says, slightly miffed.

 

“Fuck,” Eggsy stares at Harry with wide eyes. “Shit, fuck…. Wait, can we re-do?”

 

“Re-do what Eggsy?”

 

Eggsy untangles his hand from Harry’s and scrapes his chair back abruptly. He walks to the living room, shielded away from Harry’s view.

 

Harry supposes he should probably stand too. He retrieves the ring.

 

“Eggsy,” Harry says, getting down on one knee in the living room. He looks up at the boy, who still has his waistcoat on, although his hair is more dishevelled than it was earlier in the day. Harry wants to card his fingers through it until he can verifiably say he has touched every strand.

 

Harry opens his mouth, but Eggsy stops him. The boy drops to his knees to face Harry.

 

Eggsy closes his eyes and nods. “Yes,” he gasps breathily.

 

“You didn’t let me finish.”

 

“Did you actually plan a speech?”

 

Harry wants to lie.

 

“No,” he admits begrudgingly. “These things are better done in the moment I’ve heard.”

 

“Harry?” The boy reaches to touch Harry’s face, palming his cheek, and Harry closes his eyes.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Will you marry me?”

 

Harry opens his eyes to see Eggsy holding a small box. The boy opens it to show a gold single band ring. Harry looks down at his own hands which are clutching a similar size box.

 

“Fuck,” Harry lets out. He opens his own box to show off a gold single band ring.

 

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. “Yes, Eggsy.”

 

Harry can see the tears forming in Eggsy’s eyes.

 

“I - I love you so much,” the boy whispers.

 

And Harry, Harry says the words truly for the first time in his life.

 

“I love you too, my darling lover boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember the exact phrasing but I'm fairly certain it goes a little something like: "We deserve a soft epilogue my love." The universe continues to torment us everyday; I gave our boys their happy ever after.


End file.
